


the grey dove

by eroticgropefest (goldfishsunglasses)



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Christmas Shopping, First Kiss, M/M, Oblivious Simon, asshole davy, mostly fluff with angst for flavor, pining Baz, the Whole Nine Yards, until he's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8840314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldfishsunglasses/pseuds/eroticgropefest
Summary: The one where Simon works at a coffee shop, Baz needs to finish his Christmas shopping, and they both need to find their chill (aka the gay xmas movie we all deserve)





	1. Chapter 1

**Baz**  
Whoever came up with the tradition of holiday gift-giving should be burned at the stake. They deserve a long, slow, painful death, because they are directly responsible for my current mood (Which, if you’re wondering, is very pissed off.)

I’m expected to spend a small fortune on not only my immediate family, but all my aunties and uncles and cousins and whoever else is bloody invited to the Grimm Family Christmas Extravaganza. We don’t celebrate with any of the Pitches, save for my Aunt Fiona and it’s anybody’s guess whether or not she’ll actually show up. Which is unfortunate, as she’s the only member of my family who I can actually stand to be around for extended periods of time. (Except maybe the baby.) (He doesn’t count.) (He can’t even talk yet.).

There’s a coffee shop up ahead, one I know I shouldn’t go in, but I’m absolutely knackered and in desperate need of something caffeinated.

The Mage’s Men. What a terrible name for a coffee shop. What a terrible name for anything, really. What does it even mean? Who is The Mage and why does he need Men?

There’s a fleck of purple on the brick, a reminder of the time my Aunt Fiona decided the sign needed a new coat of paint and her boyfriend-of-the-week got distracted and accidentally shook the ladder. (He became EX-boyfriend-of-the-week pretty quick after that, but not before getting an entire can of the purple paint dumped on his head.)

I push open the door and the change is obvious. Gone are the plush armchairs and dark wood. The lights are harsh and unforgiving against the metal tabletops. Top 40 hits are playing on the speakers and, as I enter the queue, it switches to an advert. How pedestrian.

This looks nothing like my mothers dream. Everything she worked so hard to create has been stripped away and replaced with...well, shit.

For a moment I’m almost glad she isn’t here to see it.

I step forward and barely register the voice asking what I want.

“One peppermint mocha.”

“What size?”

I look up, and I see him. Blue eyes. Bronze curls. Gorgeous. The most gorgeous boy is standing behind the counter, and I forget why I’m there.

“What size?” he asks again, sounding annoyed.

“Large.” I say, and it comes out sharper than intended. I open my mouth to soften it with a please, but his glare kills the words in my throat.

“That’ll be £2.”

2? For a large? He must have heard me wrong.

“I said _large_.” Fuck, too sharp again.

“I know,” he snaps, “I’m not bloody deaf.”

“Why is it so cheap?”

He rolls his eyes, and I hear a groan from the queue behind me.

“The reason our coffee is so _cheap_ (he says this in a posh accent that I think is supposed to sound like me), is because the owner wants _everyone_ to be able to enjoy it. Unlike the previous owners who were content to sell only to those who could afford to spend £8 on a fucking cup of coffee.”

Previous owners. He means my family. Does he not know who I am? He seems to know the Grimm-Pitches, how does he not know me? To be fair, when my family owned this place I’d been a chubby cheeked 5 year old and not...well...who I am now.

“I’m sure the previous owners had a good reason to charge that much. Maybe they thought it was important to use the best ingredients in their coffee.”

“Are you saying we don’t use the best ingredients?”

“I doubt it,” I sneer (I can’t help it, he insulted my family), “not if you’re able to get away with selling it for a measly £2.”

His jaw clenches. “Do you want the coffee or not?”

“I suppose.” I say with a sniff. Bloody hell, I really can’t stop. But it’s almost becoming...entertaining. He’s fun to mess with, this boy.

I watch him work. He seems to be the only employee here, and I feel a twinge of sympathy as I think about the long line of people behind me. Surely there must be someone else to help him? I’m not about to ask, not after our previous exchange, but I subtly slip a £5 note into the tip jar when I’m sure he’s looking away.

He hands me my drink, and I leave before I take the first sip.

It’s delicious.

Damn him.

 **Simon**  
Who does this tosser think he is? There’s nothing wrong with our coffee! We don’t serve crap, we use the best ingredients we can afford (even if we can barely afford them) and manage just fine (most months we don’t even break even, but he doesn’t need to know that).

I make myself a peppermint mocha and sit down to check my phone. Part of me is expecting Agatha to text me and apologize. Tell me that she made a mistake and doesn’t actually want to break up with me. That she was wrong about me not caring about our relationship because I _do_. It’s just that sometimes other things are more important. Like my future. Which Agatha accused me of focusing too much on. She said she wanted a relationship _now_.

I don’t get why she’s so upset. It’s not like we never spent any time together. We had a standing date night every Saturday and I would make sure to visit her whenever I had the day off. If I wasn’t studying, that is. Or helping Davy out in the shop. Sometimes he asks me to come in on my days off, which bothers me a little bit, but not enough to say no. Why can’t she understand how important my future is to me? That the reason I spend so much time studying and working is because I don’t want to be stuck with the kind of life I’m expected to have?

Agatha is my dream girl. (Was my dream girl?) She’s everyone’s dream girl, if I’m honest. She’s got long blond hair (that’s probably softer than Baz’s) and gorgeous brown eyes. Dating her felt like a dream. Everything about her was perfect, even her family. I love her family, and I think they love me too. Well, they _did_.

I don’t know what I’m going to do next week. I’ve spent nearly every Christmas since I was 11 with the Wellbeloves. It’s my favorite holiday, Christmas. It didn’t use to be. Christmas in the care homes was shit. Most years we didn’t even get presents (and if we did, they were crap), much less the extravagant dinner and party Agatha’s family hosts.

Sometimes I wonder what Christmases with my real family would have been like. Would they be fancy, like the Wellbeloves? Would they be chaotic, like the Bunces? (I spent one Christmas with Penny’s family and never went back.) (I don’t think her mum much liked having me there anyway.)

I look at the clock and down the rest of my drink in one gulp. My stomach growls. I wish I’d thought to grab a pastry, but there’s no time now. Davy mans the shop during my break, and he asked me to make it 5 minutes shorter today. Says he’s got a headache. I don’t mind, I don’t need that much time anyway. Even if it means I don’t get to eat anything until after we close. I don’t like most of the things we sell here anyway. Scones are probably my favorite thing to eat in the entire world, but we only sell plain, or raisin, and they’re hard from being left out so long and always taste like they were left in the oven too long.

If I had my way, we’d get rid of the shit pastries, and make things like they have at all the fancy coffee shops. There’s one two streets over that sells the most _amazing_ sour cherry scones. I could eat them everyday if I could afford it.

Davy says we don’t need to sell things like that. That the people who frequent the shop are perfectly happy with what we’re selling. I don’t agree, but he’s the owner and he knows what’s best. so I never tell him so. (I’d make them if he’d let me. Maybe I’ll ask next time he’s in a good mood. Maybe he’ll even say yes.)

My mind goes back to the guy from earlier. _Baz._ (With a _“z”_ he’d told me in his stupid posh voice as I labeled his cup.) What a dick. An absolute arsehole. And such a snob. I bet he eats fancy scones all the time. With jam and cream and his pinky in the air. I bet he only drinks the most expensive coffee. I bet he has someone to make it for him, even at his house. Probably too busy brushing his silky black hair to make himself a cup. Bastard.

I’m glad he hated his drink. Now he’ll want to go somewhere else. Now I won’t have to see him again.

 ***

 **Baz**  
I go back the next day.

And the next one.

And the next one.

And the next--well, you get the picture.

It’s been a week. 7 days straight that I’ve seen Simon. It’s the 13th, less than two weeks before Christmas, and I’m wasting my time at this place. I don’t know why I keep going back (yes I do). It’s not like I have to go out of my way to get there (that’s a lie). My Aunt’s flat is really close by (also a lie). I’m still trying to find the perfect present for my sister (not _quite_ a lie). The fact that Simon works there has nothing to do with it (possibly the biggest lie I’ve ever told).

Simon  
He’s back. _Again._ It’s been a week. Is he stalking me?

He’s definitely stalking me.

What is he plotting? Planning? Plotting? What’s the right word? I don’t care. I don’t care about him. At all. What does he want? Whatever it is, I’m not interested. He can stick his perfect nose in someone else’s business, because I’m _not interested._

I get ready to make his drink, because he orders the same thing every day. Doesn’t he get sick of it? (Nevermind that I do the same thing.)

He’s so bloody annoying, Baz. Baz, who seems to love mint and chocolate as much as I do.

Screw him.

Baz  
Does this place even _have_ any other employees? Or is this another one of their ingenious “cost-saving” techniques?

Simon looks dead on his feet, and I want to wrap him up in cotton wool and take him away from this place. Maybe to Fiona’s place. She’s never home. Definitely not to my family’s house, they don’t even know I’m--

Why would that matter? It’s not like I’d be taking him there under _those_ pretenses. Where did that thought come from? Suddenly it’s my turn to order and I have to remember how to speak. Simon’s looking at me like I’ve just said something funny. Oh god, can he read minds? Of course he can’t read minds, what a silly thought.

I wish I could read his.

“Back again?” he says, not even bothering to ask what I want. (Does this make me a regular? A small part of me hopes so.)

“Obviously.” I say, and sneer at him. He just grins. It’s infuriating. And adorable. Infuriatingly adorable. That sums him up perfectly. I hand him the £2 and our fingers touch when he takes it.

Fucking hell, I hope he didn’t notice.

“You must really love this place.”

“Please, I could drink terrible coffee anywhere.” I snap. The smile falls from his face almost instantly, and I realize I’ve gone too far.

“If you hate this place so much, then why do you keep coming back?” he demands, and fuck, I almost tell him. Almost admit that it’s _him,_ that he’s the reason I keep coming back to this godforsaken excuse for a coffee shop. That I think I might be falling for him. That I want to reach across the counter and tangle my fingers in those damn curls, pull him close to me and snog the shit out of him. But I don’t. Instead, I (just barely manage to) blurt out the second thing on my mind.

“I need to find a present for my sister!”

He stares at me, mouth hanging open slightly. Finally he shuts it and says “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s the reason I’m here everyday, I’ve been out shopping.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Does it even matter? I promise I won’t come back tomorrow, since it seems to bother you so much.” I turn to leave.

“Wait!” He calls. I have half a mind to ignore him and keep walking, but something makes me turn around. (I pretend not to know what that is.) (It’s him.) “Wait,” he calls again, and I stare at him. He seems to realize I’m not going to reply, and he steps out from behind the counter.

“I…could help.”

 _“You?”_ I answer stupidly.

“Yes, _me._ ”

“But why?”

“I just want you to leave me alone, is all.”

“How do you know I won’t come back?”

“Then you lied.”

“About what?”

“About why you keep coming back.”

Shit.

I really do leave, but this time with the promise of a day out with Simon. (I want to call this a date, but it’s not really a date if only one person knows it’s a date.) (Unfortunately.)

It isn’t until I’m home that I realize I forgot all about my coffee.

 **Simon**  
I don’t know why I’m sacrificing my day off to help him. He looked so desperate standing there that I couldn’t help it. Penny says I have a hero complex. I say I’m just a nice person. She’d scoff at that, and remind me that I barely know Baz. I picture myself telling her to shut up and she’ll shove me in that way she does. I know she’s right. I don’t know him.

But I want to.

***

 **Simon**  
We’d arranged to meet at the coffee shop. I don’t want Baz to see where I live. It’s embarrassing, and I’d rather not deal with that today.

“Oh my god,” he says (It’s the first thing he says) (Not even a “hello” or anything), “this is going to take forever. This is going to take forever and I have absolutely no idea where to start I’m never going to find her present and she won’t have any presents and--”

“She won’t get any presents?”

“Well.. I mean...she’ll still get presents. From my parents, obviously. Kids need presents.”

 _Not every kid_ , I think bitterly, _some kids never get presents and they turn out fine._ (Mostly.)

I almost feel a bit jealous of Baz in that moment. He has this big family, and siblings, and _parents._

I have none of that, and he has everything, and yet he’s still so unhappy.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair, and I want to say so, except he looks so distressed, I can’t help but take pity on him.

“Well, what does she like?” I ask.

He glares at me (He does that a lot). “Well _obviously_ if I knew that then I would have already gotten her a present.”

I shrug, because he has a point.

It’s not too cold outside, so we walk from The Mage’s Men to the first shop. It’s a bust. Baz is barely in the door before he turns around. bumping into me. I stumble and he catches my arm. I fall into him slightly, and accidentally sniff him (A complete accident, I swear it.) I’ll admit: he smells good. Like cedar and bergamot. The smell lingers as he moves away, and I resist the urge to sniff again.

If he notices me acting weird, he doesn’t mention it.

The second shop isn’t much better. It’s a comic book store, a place I think would be interesting to browse. Not according to Baz though, who, after walking no more than two feet into the place, shakes his head, grabs me by the arm, and leaves.

We walk past a few more places and I touch his arm to get his attention.

“What about there?” I ask, pointing to the toy store. Baz shakes his head.

“She doesn’t really like toys.”

“What kind of kid doesn’t like toys?”

“Her kind, apparently.”

I point to the next building; it’s a bookstore. I’m hoping we’ll find something here and Baz will cheer up.

“Does she like books?” I try.

“Yes.” He answers.

“So get her a book.”

“I can’t.”

I try not to roll my eyes. “Why not?”

“I got her a book for her birthday.”

Of fucking course.

 **Baz**  
I think I’m starting to get on Simon’s nerves. I feel guilty enough that I let him drag me into the next store. He immediately heads for the Christmas jumpers, and I suppress a groan.

He grabs the closest one and hold it up to his chest. “How do I look?”

Perfect, I think to myself.

“Hideous.” I say out loud. He grins cheekily and puts the jumper back.

“Should I get one?” he asks and I accidentally let out the groan I was hiding.

He’s still grinning like I’ve said something funny. “What’s wrong with the jumpers?”

“If everyone’s wearing them,” I say, “then it’s not really ironic anymore is it? I mean shit, shops are selling _deliberately ugly jumpers_. Takes some of the fun out of it, to be honest.”

He just shrugs (he’s always shrugging) and grabs another one, holding it out to me.

“No.” I say and he pushes it into my hands.

“Go try it on.” He insists.

I want to throw it back onto the rack, but he grabs the matching one, and I can’t resist. _We’re going to look ridiculous_ , I think. And, when we step out of the changing rooms and look in the full length mirror side by side, we do. We look absolutely ridiculous and I want to take it off _right now_ , but I catch Simon’s eye in the mirror, and he’s smiling. A big toothy smile that melts my heart just a little bit and I can’t say no.

Simon  
Two ugly jumpers and a pair of jeans (Baz insisted he needed a new pair) later, we leave the clothing store and Baz suggests another place nearby. I follow him, not really paying attention to my surroundings as long as I see his head of black hair in front of me.

I wonder what this shop will be. I wonder if we’ll even be able to find anything. I wonder why Baz’s standards are so high.

What do little girls even like? I try to think about all the presents I’ve gotten Agatha over the years and I realize that she’d picked most of those out. Subtly, of course, but still noticeably enough that even I remembered it later on. Even Penny doesn’t trust me with present-buying. Why did I think I’d have anything to offer today? Except maybe my company, but why would Baz even want that?

He probably knew this and is waiting to embarrass me when we don’t find anything.

What if he stops coming back to the shop? What if I never see him again? Shouldn’t I be happy about that? All he does is come into my place of work and taunt me every day. I hate him. No I don’t. I strongly dislike him. No I don’t. I want to be his friend. No I--

Do I?

Is that why I offered?

Penny says having too many friends is a waste of time, so by her logic I shouldn’t be reaching out to him, but something is pulling me towards Baz.

He’s interesting. And funny, even if his jokes are aimed at me. And I suppose girls probably find him handsome, even though he has that widow's peak that makes him look like a movie villain. His face probably makes up for it. For them, I mean. And he’s tall. I know girls like tall guys, Agatha told me. I don’t think she meant to, because she’d been up too late and sleepily turned to me and said “Simon, you’d be perfect if you were tall.”

I didn’t know how to answer that, so I just kept quiet. I do that a lot. Keep quiet, I mean. Talking never did me any good growing up, and I guess it just turned into a habit. Besides, Penny’s always talked enough for the both of us.

Baz grabs my elbow, jolting me from my thoughts.

“Wha--?”

“You almost walked into that person, you oaf,” he says. Strangely, I don’t feel chastised, and I find that I sort of like that he was looking out for me.

 **Baz**  
We enter the last shop on the street, and my expectations are low. We’ve been to so many places today, and nothing. Then I realize Simon is no longer at my side.

 _“Baz.”_ He whisper-yells from a few feet away. I turn around, because must he?

Then I see it. Simon’s crouched in front of a display case filled with tiny glass animals. Right in front, nestled between a giraffe and a seagull, is the most perfect little grey dove. It’s beautiful, it catches the light just so, making it look almost alive and, most importantly, it means I’m _finally_ done with my Christmas shopping. And it’s all thanks to Simon. I’m so happy I could kiss him. If he’d let me, that is. Would he? Am I willing to risk our friendship to find out? Are we even friends? Do I even want to be? Why am I not buying the damn dove?

I notice him gazing longingly at the glass dragon, red and rather intimidating given it’s size, and for a moment I consider buying that as well, but I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t want to scare Simon away when I’ve only just got him. Or whatever this is. Instead I nod when the woman asks if that will be all, and she gives me a thin-lipped smile. I bet they don’t get many teenagers in here. I bet they don’t get many Simons in here either.

Simon, who’s watching as the attendant wraps the dove and bouncing on his heels like an excited puppy. One that really needs to wee. God, I hope he doesn’t have to wee.

He’s still doing it after we leave.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” he asks eagerly.

“She’d better.”

“Baz?”

“Yeah?”

“You know you still had time, right? It’s not like you waited until Christmas eve eve, or whatever.”

“Christmas eve eve?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Shut _up._ I just mean… why today? Why now?”

“I--” I stop walking, “I don’t know. I just felt like… like I needed to find it soon.”

He stops walking as well and turns to look at me. I want to dive into those blue eyes. He’s staring so intently I can’t look away. And then Simon smiles.

“I’m glad you did.”

I blush.

“Do you have to be home soon?” he asks.

I shake my head. I don’t think my father much cares where I go at night, as long as I’m there in the morning, and he doesn’t have to read about it in the morning paper.

“Do you want to help me decorate the shop? I forgot I’d told Davy I would do it.”

“What, tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Right now?”

“Yes!”

“Tonight... right now?”

“Do you want to or not?”

Of course I do.

“I guess so.” I answer, feigning indifference. I can’t tell if he’s picked up on it or not. He’s exceedingly thick, but it’s one of the things that makes him so irresistible.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Is that a yes?” he sounds hopeful and I have to work hard to keep my face neutral.

“I suppose, if I have time.” Of course I have time. I have all the time in the world for Simon.

Fuck, I think I’m falling for him.

I’m still blushing.

***

 **Baz**  
We take a taxi back to The Mage’s Men. The shop is fucking cold as shit, so Simon offers to make us some coffees. Of course I agree. (I’m learning to like the coffee here.)

I watch as Simon busies himself with the machine. His fingers fly over the buttons with practiced ease, which is probably a good thing because I’m convinced he really is the only person working here.

“Simon?”

He grunts in reply. I shouldn’t find that adorable.

“Does anyone else work here besides you?”

“You mean like Davy?”

“No. I mean does anyone help you behind the counter.”

“Oh. Well, Penny used to until her mum made her quit because she didn’t like Davy; and Agatha--”

“Your ex?”

He squints at me. “Yes, my ex. She was working here until she decided it wasn’t for her.” He puts the last three words in air quotes and I get the feeling that there’s much more to that story, but I don’t know enough about his past relationship to care much.

When my family owned the place, we all worked here. Even I, child that I was, would help sweep up at closing.

I can’t imagine what it’s like to do it all on your own.

He sits down across from me, clutching his own cup. I’m doing the same. The heating is currently off, and I’m starting to feel the chill.

“What are you having?” I ask. He hands me the cup and I take a sip. Peppermint mocha.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to have anything in common with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re--”

“Evil?”

“Baz--” He starts, but then he realizes I’m joking and his face lights up. “Yes, because you’re evil. You’re a big, bad…”, he squints, “vampire!”

i almost choke on my drink. “A vampire?”

“Of course! You’ve got the posh voice, the widow’s peak, the commanding nature--”

This time I really do choke.

“You think I have a commanding nature?”

He blushes. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t know vampires had a commanding nature.”

“Of course they do,” Simon insists, “the only thing that’s missing is pale skin.”

“I’m trying to decide if I should be insulted or not.”

“It’s not an insult.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I would never insult someone while they’re holding a hot drink.”

I shove him and he yelps.

“So,” Simon says once he’s recovered, “is your name _really_ Baz?”

“It’s a nickname, obviously.”

He snorts. “Who gave you that?”

“It’s short for--”

“For what?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s your full name?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“I’ll just have to guess then.”

“You’ll never guess it and I can’t be arsed to listen to you try.”

“Does that mean you’ll tell me?”

“Fine. It’s short for… for Basilton.”

He snorts. I glare at him, and sniff. “Like yours is any better.”

“What’s wrong with the name Simon?”

“What _isn’t_ wrong with it?”

He makes a grab for my cup, and I have to pull it away quickly lest he spill it everywhere. He tries again and I shove his hand.

“That all you got?” he asks, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

I (barely) resist the urge to stick out my tongue. I don’t want him to think I’m a child. Speaking of bad impressions...

“You probably think I’m mad after today, dragging you to all of those shops like that.” I say.

“No, I understand. I’m the same way when it comes to buying presents for Penny.”

There’s that name again. “Who’s Penny?”

“Oh. Right. Sorry. She’s my best friend, almost like my sister really. And I never know what to get her for Christmas or even her birthday, because she never really needs anything and if she does it’s about £800 and I just can’t afford that.”

“I don’t think anyone can afford that.”

He snorts. “You probably could.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Right,” he says quietly, “I’m sorry.” And then, “I’m an orphan.”

I look up at that. “What?”

“If I’m going to get to know you, I need to tell you about myself too.” He says. His hands are in fists at his sides, coffee forgotten, and I want to take them in mine and tell him everything will be okay. That I’m here, that he doesn’t have to be sad anymore. But I don’t.

“We’re not that different.”

“But you have a family!” He shouts, “You have a dad and a mum and--”

“My mother is dead.” I say flatly, cutting him off.

His mouth is still open as he pales and shuts up quickly before looking away. They always look away.

“Sorry about your mum.”

“You too.”

We’re quiet for a moment.

“Right.” I say.

“Right.” He echoes.

“Right,” I say again, and he frowns. I don’t want him to frown.

“I thought we were going to decorate?” I say, and for a moment it seems like he forgot why we’re here. He nods, but doesn’t make a move to stand.

“What’s your favorite thing about Christmas?” he asks, and it’s obvious he’s trying to salvage the conversation.

“I don’t particularly like Christmas.” I admit.

“How can you not like Christmas?” he looks incredulous. I almost feel as if I’ve offended him somehow.

“Christmas hasn’t felt like Christmas for a long time.” I say, and cringe inwardly because it sounds so overdramatic but it’s true. Ever since my Mother died, Christmas has been a yearly reminder of everything I’d lost. She adored the holiday.

“The first Christmas after my mother died,” I continue, “I woke up and Father Christmas hadn’t left me any presents. I thought that I’d been very, very bad that year, but now I think my father was just depressed and forgot.”

He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. We’re quiet again. This keeps happening.

“I’m sorry.” He says softly, and I find myself blinking back tears I hadn’t realized were there. I’m afraid he’s going to tease me for them, but he just squeezes my hand once and stands, pulling me up with him.

“Is that why this was so important to you?”

I nod.

“I’m glad you let me help you.”

The moment is over, but something has changed between us. I don’t think we can go back to the way things were. I don’t think I want to.

He’s still holding my hand as he guides me towards what looks like a storeroom.

“Is this where they are?” I ask. Simon nods, and opens the door.

It’s a mess. Figures.

 **Simon**  
I stand on my toes and grab the first box from the shelf. Setting it down, I start to get the second box, but it’s sitting on a pile of newspapers and I decide to let Baz get it once we finish with the first box.

He’s taller than I am. I try not to let that bother me. Just because I’m slightly under 6 feet doesn’t mean I’m any less manly than he is. (If Penny was here, she’d lecture me about gender roles and toxic masculinity and I know she’s right, but it would be nice to be taller.)

 **Baz**  
He sets the box down on the table with a _thump_ , and it shakes slightly under the weight. Damn cheap as hell furniture. I’ll never get used to it.

Against my better judgement, I say the thing that’s been on my mind ever since he told me what we were doing tonight.

“I thought it was your day off.”

“It is.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because Davy asked me to.”

“You do everything Davy asks you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because…” He seems to think about it, “because it’s what’s expected of me.”

I want to ask what he means, but he interrupts before I get the chance,

“Hand me that star?”

I pick up the green star from the table and hold it up. He reaches for it and our fingers touch. The look on his face tells me I wasn’t the only one who felt that spark. He looks away quickly and hangs the star on it’s hook.

Next he pulls out the (tangled) fairy lights. I watch as he struggles to unravel the ball, and can’t help but take pity. His face is scrunched up in concentration, and it’s so fucking adorable I can’t look away. I watch him curse under his breath as he somehow manages to make the knot worse.

“Here, let me help.” I reach for the lights, but he moves away before I can take them.

“No,” he snaps, and then softer, “no. I can do it.”

God, he’s so damn stubborn. If it was anyone else, I would keep insisting, because watching other people fail at simple tasks annoys me to no end, but not when Simon does it.

Fuck, I’m definitely falling for him.

 **Simon**  
I know I was being stubborn. And I know I’m being a bit ridiculous, since I _did_ ask Baz here to help (That’s the only reason, honest), but when I start a task I have to complete it on my own or I get really disappointed in myself, and I really don’t want Baz to see that side of me. Not yet, not when he still thinks I’m normal.

He’s staring at me with a strange expression on his face. Fuck, he’s probably already figured it out.

I finally get the lights untangled, and huff out a sigh of relief. Baz grins, and I wish I knew what he was thinking; why he was watching so intently; why he’s here. (Again, I know I invited him, but he didn’t have to say yes. Nevermind that I just spent the day with him.)

I look at the window. They need to go at the top, and there’s no way I can do it. I turn to Baz.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to put these up? You’re taller.”

“Yes, but you’re not afraid of heights.” He says.

“You’re afraid of heights?”

“Nope.”

“Arse.” I growl (But not meanly. I’ve found that I don’t want to be mean to Baz anymore.)

 **Baz**  
His hair looks golden under the fairy lights. His face is illuminated and I can pick out every mole and freckle. There’s one on his cheek. I want to kiss it. I can. I might. I shake the thought away.

“Where do you want to put this?” I ask, pulling a string of tinsel from the box.

“Right here.” He takes the tinsel and places it on my shoulders, grabbing the ends and pulling until my face is right in front of his.

I hold my breath. I really think he might kiss me. He closes his eyes and I start to lean in. Suddenly, we’re interrupted by a crash. I glance in the direction of the noise, and It’s the star Simon just finished putting up. He buries his face in my shoulder and I’ve never hated a Christmas decoration more.

I clear my throat. “I think something just fell.”

He mumbles something that sounds like “no shit” and pulls his head back. My lips accidentally brush his forehead and I’m surprised when he doesn’t flinch.

“Simon?”

“Yeah?” he answers, slightly breathless.

“You need to let go.”

He looks at the tinsel in his hands, as if he forgot it was there, and drops the ends. It stays on my shoulders like a shiny scarf and I briefly consider leaving it there, until I stand up fully and it falls down. I’m starting to notice a trend here.

Simon glares at the traitorous star and shoves it back into the box. Good riddance.

Next he pulls out a wreath, holding it up like a question. I look around the shop for the best place to hang it. “How about there?” I ask, pointing to a spot above the door.

He nods once, and drags one of the awful metal chairs across the floor. I’m forever grateful when he and the chair reach their destination and the horrible scraping noise comes to a halt. My mother’s poor wooden floors.

“Hold this for me?” he says, gesturing to the chair.

Why he’s using that and not the perfectly good ladder three feet away I have no idea, but I grip the back and try not to stare too hard as his shirt lifts up to reveal the small of his back. It’s just the tiniest strip, but it’s doing things to me it _really shouldn’t_. I want to lick it. I want to drag my tongue up his spine as he’s--

He’s talking to me.

“What?” I ask, trying to push away the last of my weird thoughts.

“I said, does this look even?”

I almost say no, that he needs to fix the left side because I want to see more of what’s under his shirt. But I can’t lie to him. Not more than I already am.

“It looks fine.”

He nods and reaches out his hand. I take it and he jumps down from the chair, nearly slamming into me as he does so. He doesn’t let go of my hand and, for the second time tonight, I wonder if he even remembers he’s holding it.

“Hi.” He whispers, squeezing my hand and answering my question.

“Hi.” I reply, just as quiet. I hadn’t realized how loud we were being until now and I notice the music is off. I start to wonder when that happened, but then Simon’s leaning into me and nothing matters anymore. Somehow his other hand found it’s way to my stomach. He’s rubbing it gently. It feels so good. He’s leaning in and I think he might kiss me. I close my eyes and wait.

And then the lights flicker on.

 **Simon**  
I hear Davy clear his throat behind me, and I let my hand fall. This seems to break Baz from his spell, and he drops my hand as he opens his eyes. I can tell the exact moment he registers Davy’s presence and I feel him tense just as fast. Quickly, Baz steps away from me and I feel the absence of his warmth immediately.

“Simon,” Davy says, “go to your room.”

 **Baz**  
Simon smiles apologetically and gives me a little wave before climbing the stairs and leaving me alone with Davy.

Davy, who looks like he just swallowed a sock. Or something else large and unpleasant. He’s looking at me like I’m his worst enemy, and I barely even fucking know him. He crosses his arms and glares at me. Up at me. (He’s taller than Simon, who I’ve got three inches on, but not by much.)

“You don’t think I know what you’re doing?”

What am I doing?

“You didn’t think I’d figure out your plan?”

My… plan?

“What you were doing with Simon?”

Fuck, how did he know? Was I being that obvious? Wait… he’d just caught us…Well, we weren’t doing anything. But we’d almost been… at least I think…

“You don’t think I know about your family’s little plan?”

Wait.

What?

“What?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, boy. I know why you’re here. You Pitches have wanted this place back for ages and know they’ve sent you to spy for them.”

As if the shop still meant anything to me. It does, in a way, because it was my mother’s favorite place. Her sanctuary. Her dream.

But it’s also the place where she died.

“The public deserves more than what your family gave them! You Pitches had everyone convinced they needed to spend all of their hard earned money here, but I saved them! I saved them all!”

I don’t know where he got that idea from. He didn’t “take it from us”. We sold it after her death, because the bad memories were too strong and my father couldn’t bear to rebuild it without her there. But obviously this man had got it in his head that he’d somehow _defeated_ us. That he’d conquered this shop, and that we wanted it back.

 **Simon**  
I’m sitting in bed, thinking about Baz. (Before you ask, I have a bed here. For when I don’t want to go home. Which is nearly always.)

Christ, I’d almost kissed him. Almost kissed a boy. Almost kissed _Baz._ Would he have let me? I think he would have. I wanted to kiss him so bad. What would have happened if Davy hadn’t interrupted? Would we have kissed? Would we have done...more? That thought makes me blush.

He was _right there._ His lips were _right there._ All I had to do was lean forward and…

Christ. I’d almost kissed him.

Does this mean I’m gay? What about Agatha? I liked kissing Agatha. And holding her hand. And being with her. And everything about her. But now I want to kiss a boy.

What does that mean? Am I bi? Now I’m second guessing my feelings for Agatha. Did I even love her? Of course I did, I’m just being stupid.

This is why I don’t like to think about things.

Too confusing.

Christ, I’d almost kissed him.

And I want to try again.

And tomorrow, I decide with a smile, I’m going to.

 **Baz**  
I knew Davy was weird. I didn’t think he was crazy. But he’s standing in front of me throwing this accusations that will never be true, never be _real_ to anyone but him. There’s a mad glint in his eye that makes me a bit nervous, but Simon’s upstairs, and my mobile is in my pocket. I try to subtly reach for it, but Davy catches me. He grabs my wrist, but I yank it away, nearly dropping my phone in the process.

He tries to grab for me again, but seems to think better of it as his eyes flick towards the stairs. I think he’s remembered Simon’s presence, and he lowers his voice when he says, “I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him everything. All your lies, how you used him, how he let himself be played. By you.”

Fuck.

“Simon won’t believe you.”

“Why wouldn’t he? Who are you to him?”

A better person than you, I think, but I don’t answer. This seems to annoy him, and he takes a step forward. I move back, and bump into one of the damn metal tables. He laughs unpleasantly, and all I want to do is get out of there. No. I want to go upstairs, get Simon, and take him far away from here. Far away from this man. I want to keep him safe.

“That’s what I thought. You don’t know him at all. I’ve given him _everything_ , and I can take it away just as quick,” he says, “in fact, I’m sure the people at his care home would be interested to know that he was caught stealing at his job.”

No. _No._ “You wouldn’t.”

“I won’t. Unless…” He trails off. I’ve seen enough bad action movies to know where this is going.

“You want me to go away.” I say, and he grins. It’s unnerving.

“Now you’re getting it.”

He steps away, and without a backwards glance, makes his way upstairs, leaving me to make my choice. I know what I have to do. I know how important Simon’s future is to him, and I refuse to fuck it up. Even if it hurts me, I have to let him go. For his sake.

The only way to protect Simon is to leave.

So I do.


	2. part 2

**Simon**  
For the first time, I’m actually looking forward to seeing Baz in the morning. I even took the time to make sure I looked nice. I couldn’t do much about my uniform but my hair looks good (Well, I need a haircut; the sides are growing out). I can’t look like I’m trying too hard, anyway. I’ve got to be casual about this. Whatever “this” is. Is this a this? Was that even a sentence? Why am I thinking so hard about this? Oh, right.

It’s almost 9, the time he usually makes an appearance.

I’ve got it all planned out. As soon as he walks in the door, I’ll start his drink and, instead of his name, I’ll write my number and what time I get off work tonight. Is tonight too soon? I hope not, because I really ( _really_ ) want to see him. Which probably isn’t very casual of me, but I can’t get him out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about him. I don’t think I want to. Which is strange, because I’m usually really good at keeping my thoughts in check. (Or, as Penny puts it, “not thinking”.)

I’m nervous. Christ, I’m actually _nervous._

The bells on the wreath we hung up last night ring as the first customer of the day enters the shop. I look up. It’s not him. The second one isn’t him either. Or the third. Or the fourth, or even the fifth. But that’s okay. It’s okay, because he should be here soon. He shows up every day around this time. Every day. He’s probably just running late.

Except…except he’s never been late before. And it’s strange that he would now, especially after we nearly kissed twice. _Twice._ Enough to make me think he wanted me enough to try again. Except apparently not, because he isn’t here. I don’t know what I expected. Did I think he would just waltz in here and snog me over the counter? No, that’s not his style. Or is it? It hits me how little I actually know about Baz. I don’t even know his last name. I didn’t think I needed to, not yet. I thought we’d work up to that. I thought we might exchange numbers first.

I thought I might see him.

—

 **Simon**  
My plan for today is the same. His name is already on a cup (I got a bit overexcited earlier), and I’ve done my hair again. I even got it shaved down yesterday, figuring it was time. (The fact that Baz might like it hadn’t even crossed my mind.) (Much.)

I’ll admit: Baz not showing up yesterday made me nervous, like I’d messed up somehow. Misread the signals. This kind of thing is new to me, but we almost kissed _twice_ and I’m pretty sure there’s no way to misread that. Probably.

Trust me to be the first.

I touch my lips, remembering how it felt to have Baz’s so close to my own. They were like a magnet, pulling me in, pulling me closer, pulling me until I had no choice but to kiss him. Not that I would mind. I’ve never even kissed a bloke before, but I know I’d like to.

I want to believe I’ve never thought about that before, but I’d be lying to myself. It’s a weird feeling, realizing things like this. Isn’t it supposed to be something you just…know about yourself? Deep down I think I’ve always known. Not that I’m gay, but that I wasn’t completely straight, but it was never something I thought much about because I was with Agatha and would be for a long time (maybe even forever). Thoughts like that weren’t necessary.

And now they’re hitting me all at once. Especially the ones about Baz (like how his hair falls in lazy waves across his forehead.) (Or how he looks when he’s blushing.) (And then how he looks when I notice.)

He has pretty eyelashes.

Christ, I’m thick.

—

**Simon**

Baz hasn’t shown up for three days.

I’m trying not to worry, trying not to blame myself.

Trying not to miss him.

I mean, fuck, it’s only been three days. That’s nothing. Only 36 hours. Only 4320 minutes.

No time at all. Certainly not enough to panic and think I’m never going to see him again.

259200 seconds, but who’s counting. (I sound like I’m going mad.) (I refuse to let Baz make me go mad.) (Fuck, I’m starting to go mad.)

Customer after customer had come through the door. Hours had passed. And no Baz.

I’d written his name on a cup again. (More out of hopefulness than excitement this time.) I don’t need it now; I throw it in the bin. I go to close the lid and notice that the cup landed with the _“Baz”_ clearly visible.

I slam it shut.

—

 **Simon**  
I spend my day off with Penny. I usually spend my days off with Penny, and she was a bit miffed when I told her last time that I had other plans.

“Now what am I supposed to do?” She’d asked.

“Hang out with someone else?”

“Who?”

“Agatha?”

“That’ll be awkward.”

In the end, she did go to Agatha’s. I’d almost asked what they did, but figured she’d tell me herself if it was anything important.

Today we’re studying at the library. Penny says it’s because her house is too loud, but I know she’s lying. I don’t mind though.

The library is near enough to my favorite curry place, and if I manage to focus long enough, Penny usually buys. It makes me feel weird sometimes when she does that, but every time I bring it up she just waves it off and the subject is dropped.

I’m fidgeting in my seat. I’ve read the same sentence five times already, and the words are starting to blur. Penny asks me a question, and I don’t answer. Not because I’m rude or even because I don’t know the answer; but because I don’t trust myself to speak right now.

“Spit it out, Simon,” she says. I knew she’d be able to tell something was wrong. I can never hide anything from her.

“I met a guy.” I say and Penny just nods. Nothing ever phases her. Not that I expected it to, actually. Penny would never judge me for anything like this. I also don’t think she’s exactly surprised.

“You met a guy.” She says and I nod, “are you going to give me any details beyond that?”

“Oh, right, yeah. Well he came into the coffee shop for the first time about two weeks ago, and the first thing he did was insult our coffee.”

“What a charmer.” She quips.

“Yeah, he was an arse. Anyways, he kept coming back. Again, and again, and again, until finally I asked him why.”

She leans forward, her glasses falling down the bridge of her nose. “What did he say?”

“That he’d been looking for a present for his sister,” I say, and push them back up for her.

She snorts, “Yeah, right.”

“He was. We even went shopping for it.” Penny’s eyes grow big at that.

“You hate shopping!”

I shrug, because I can’t argue with her. I did like shopping with Baz though. Liked spending time with him. Penny frowns, because she can tell I’m thinking too hard again, and I continue.

“So, like I said, we spent the day together and then that night….we….we almost kissed.”

“You _almost_ kissed?”

“Twice.”

“ _Twice!_ ”

“Yes, Pen. Twice.”

“Oh, Simon.” she says, putting an arm around me and rubbing my back, “you really like him, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, “I do.”

She sighs and keeps rubbing my back in that motherly way of hers. It’s helping, but not completely.

I think I’m pining. What the hell is wrong with me? It hasn’t even been a week and I’m moping around like a teenager with a crush. (Although, I guess I technically am a teenager with a crush.)

“Fuck this,” I say, and Penny just sighs again.

—

 **Simon**  
It’s been five days since I last saw Baz.

—

 **Simon**  
It’s been six days since I last saw Baz.

—

 **Simon**  
It’s been seven days since I last saw Baz.

—

 **Simon**  
It’s been eight days since I last saw Baz.

—

 **Simon**  
It’s been nine days since I last saw Baz and it’s becoming obvious (even to Davy) that something is off. I’m cleaning up for the day when he comes over and slings an arm over my shoulder. I try not to flinch away (I really hate being touched without permission) and manage a smile.

“What’s wrong, son?” He asks.

“Nothing, sir,” I lie, “just tired.”

He looks at me for a moment and I think he’s going to say something else, but he just shakes his head and walks away. He’s been weird lately. Distant. Ever since he caught Baz and I together, he’s barely speaking to me. I tried to bring it up, but he shut me down and told me to clean the machines. I’d already done it, but I did it again because he looked so pissed off that it wasn’t worth pointing out.

—

 **Simon**  
I don’t see Davy again until the end of the day, when he has plenty to say. He’s just finished snapping at me about cleaning the machines ( _again_ ), and I’m looking forward to going upstairs and collapsing into my bed, when he gestures to the storage cupboard.

“You never put the tinsel up.” He says, “or any of the other decorations.”

“I’m sorry…I–I was…I got–”

“You don’t need to say it, Simon. You just need to get that done. Today, if it’s not too much trouble.” He says the last part sarcastically, which I think is pretty unnecessary. But, as usual, I say nothing and just nod, even though I don’t really want to do it without Baz here.

I didn’t think it was possible to miss someone this much, especially someone I’d just met, but I guess I was wrong.

Davy leaves, and I trudge over to the cupboard and open the door. As I stand on my toes trying to reach the box on the shelf, I remember why I didn’t grab that one the first time, and find myself wishing Baz was here to get it for me. And to help me put it up. And to tell me where the fuck he’s been.

I sigh, and stand on my toes to reach for the wreath. I manage to grab the very edge, but when I pull it a pile of papers tumbles down with it. Shit. I let go of the wreath to try and catch the papers and then it falls to the floor. Fucking hell, what else can go wrong today?

The headline of one of the papers catches my eye. It reads “FIRE AT COFFEE SHOP LEADS TO TRAGIC LOSS”.

I realize every single paper has the same headline. There must be hundreds here, all saying the same thing, all with the same two pictures. One of The Mage’s Men, except the windows are boarded up and the sign on the front says “Natasha’s”. The other of a family: a woman who looks like Baz, and a little boy who…a little boy who looks like a younger Baz. I think that _is_ Baz.

“What are you doing?”

I jump when I hear Davy behind me, and I drop the paper I’m holding. I don’t turn around. Something doesn’t seem right. Why are these here? Why are there so many? What is he hiding? I’m almost scared to ask, but I face him anyway.

“What is this?” I ask, holding up the paper. I expect him to look surprised, or even nervous, but instead he smiles.

“That’s a newspaper.”

I want to roll my eyes, but something tells me that’s a bad idea right now, “I mean, what’s this?” I point directly at the headline.

“Surely you know the history of this place, Simon?”

“No, I don’t.”

“The Mage’s Men used to be called Natasha’s, back when it was owned by the Pitch family,” he makes a face when he says Pitch, like he’s just smelt something terrible. “One night she was there with her son–yes, I mean him–and there was a fire. She died saving him. The details are in the paper, if you care to read.” He says this all so casually, like we’re having a perfectly normal conversation.

“The family was heartbroken, of course, “ he continues, “they sold it after the fire, after her death. And then I took it and made it mine. And made it _better_.”

When he’s done, my mouth is hanging open. I can’t believe what he’s just told me.

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask once I’ve managed to somewhat collect my thoughts.

“What’s wrong with _me_ , Simon? What’s wrong with _you?_ I’m the only one seeing the big picture here! She was a dictator!”

“She was a _person_.” I growl.

“She was a monster!”

It’s then that I see him for who he really is. A pathetic man who’s convinced himself of too many things, who doesn’t care who he hurts or what he took from others along the way. Including, apparently, me. Baz wouldn’t have left without his influence, I’m sure of it.

“What did you do to Baz?” I demand.

“I sent him away.”

“You sent him away? Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because he was a spy!” Davy shouts, spittle flying from his mouth. He grabs my shoulders and shakes me slightly. He’s starting to scare me.

“Davy, what the fuck,” I say flatly, fighting to keep my voice steady. (I’ve never called him by his first name to his face. Then again, he’s never acted like this before.) It wouldn’t do any good to go off right now, even though I’d really love to punch him right in the mustache.

“You’ve tried to control my whole life, my whole future, but that’s going to end. Here. Now. And in case it wasn’t obvious, _sir_ , I quit.”

The look on his face would be comical if I wasn’t so afraid. I’ve just done a huge thing, because I was right, he’s been in charge of me practically my whole life. He’s given me everything I needed to survive. What will I do without him? I shake that question off.

I’ll be fine. Probably. Technically I could have left the care home at 16, but Davy pushed me to stay there. Once upon a time, I was sure he was right. That he had a good reason. Now I’m not so sure. I’m not sure of anything at the moment, really. I feel like my world is falling apart, like everything I knew is a lie, and all I want to do is curl up in a ball and hide away. I thought this place was the key to my future.

I need to leave it behind, need to walk out that door and never look back.

So I do.

—

 **Simon**  
I take the tube around the city until it gets dark and then wander around until I’m confident I can sneak in without getting caught. Davy’s usually never here at night, which is why I was so surprised when Baz and I woke him up before. I’m hoping that he’s out (wherever he goes. Something tells me I should have questioned that more), because I’d left my stuff here when I’d stormed out earlier. Lucky for me (and no so much for Davy), I still have the extra key, so I don’t have to bother actually breaking in. (Not that I’ve ever done that. That would be wrong.) (Shut up.)

I’m shoving as much as I can into my duffle, when I have to accept that not everything will fit. So I creep quietly back down the stairs for something else. Once I’m in the shop I see it. The little bag belonging to Baz.

The dove. I have to give the dove back to him.

I take it out of the wrapping and hold it up to the lamp. The light reflects off it and, as I turn it this way and that, I realize what drew me to this particular piece. I don’t know how I didn’t figure it out sooner, it’s not like I hadn’t spent plenty of time looking.

The dove is the exact same shade of grey as Baz’s eyes.

—

 **Simon**  
I take a taxi to Penny’s house, even though I know it’ll drain me of the last of my cash. I’ll figure something out, I always do.

Penny’s mum answers the door.

“Simon,” she says, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hi Professor Bunce,” I say (I’ve never called her anything else, just Professor), “is Penny home?”

She looks me up and down, and I know she’s taking in my disheveled appearance. My hair is flat, my tracksuit is wrinkled, and I’m clutching a bin bag stuffed with everything I own, along with a duffle bag and a small green bag from Harrods. I must look a sight.

“Penelope is in her room.”

“Thank you,” I say, and walk past her and up the stairs.

 **Penny**  
I’m reading in bed when he shows up. Nearly scares me to death, looming in my doorway like that.

“Simon?” I call out, “is that you?” He steps into the light and the first thing I notice is that he looks terrible. He’s breathing hard and his eyes are frantic, not quite focusing on one thing.

“Penny,” he says, “something’s happened.”

 **Simon**  
Before I realize what’s happening, I’m spilling the whole story to her. About Davy. About Baz. About what Davy did to Baz. About how I _have to find_ Baz.

 **Penny**  
I never fully trusted Davy, never thought he was a good influence on Simon, but I never thought he was flat out _crazy_.

I can’t help Simon deal with that, at least not right now. What I can do is help him find the guy he’s been mooning over for the past two weeks.

“Pen,” he says morosely, “how am I going to find him?”

“That’s easy,” I say, “you got his last name from the paper, right?” he nods, “so we play detective and google him.”

“Google? Really?”

“Do you have a better idea?” I ask and he shakes his head. That’s what I thought.

I make myself comfortable and open my laptop, Simon leans into me and watches as I type “Basilton Grimm-Pitch” and hit enter. Multiple articles come up: some old, some new; some not even about him.

I click on a link that’s got information about his house. It’s a historical landmark, apparently, and once I find that out his address is a click away. I’m sort of concerned about how easy it was to find it, but I don’t say anything aloud. I don’t know if Simon needs anything else to worry about right now.

 **Simon**  
We’ve been searching for a good hour and a half when I realize how late it is. Penny offers me her couch for the night, and of course I accept because where else am I going to go?

Well, technically, it’s her parent’s couch. Her mum doesn’t like me much; thinks I’m a bad influence. Penny says that’s bullshit and that she spends more time convincing me to break the rules than the other way round. She doesn’t say that to her mum, though. Only me.

I start to wonder if there would even be any way Professor Bunce would believe that, but I’m asleep before I can finish the thought.

—

 **Simon**  
I wake up the next day, and start to panic because I’m not in my bed. The feeling goes away when I realize I’m at Penny’s and not in any danger.

The next thing I realize is that Agatha is in the armchair next to me.

“Well, this is unexpected.” I say, my voice still scratchy like it gets in the morning.

She nods, and I’m worried this is about to become uncomfortable.

“I’m gonna go…shower.” I say, with a little awkward wave that I wish I could stop doing because _fuck_ how embarrassing. She kind of looks at me like she’s thinking the same thing.

“Have fun.” She says, the end of her sentence trailing up a bit almost like she’s asking a question. I used to hate when she did that.

—

 **Simon**  
In the shower I grab the first wash I see, which ends up smelling like flowers. It’s not too bad actually. Years in homes taught me to clean myself quickly and I finish up in less than 5 minutes. I’m pulling a shirt over my head when Penny barges in.

“Fuck, Penny! What if I wasn’t wearing anything?”

She rolls her eyes at that. “I have brothers, Simon. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

I blush. “Well you haven’t seen…mine. So…so be careful.” I stumble out.

Penny just rolls her eyes again, but I notice she’s making an effort not to look at my bare torso. “Agatha says she has plans with Minty tonight and that if we don’t get in the car right now she’s leaving.”

“Shit. Okay, give me a second.”

She nods, and shuts the door behind her. I finish getting the shirt on, adjust the waistband of my joggers, and head back to Pen’s room. Once I’m there, I double check that Baz’s address is in my phone, and grab the bag. Can’t forget the bag, it’s the whole reason we’re going to his house. (Why am I still lying to myself?)

When I get outside, Agatha’s in her car, tapping her nails against the steering wheel. Penny and I both climb into the back and Agatha complains this makes her feel like a chauffeur. When neither of us will move, she just huffs and stars the car.

“Who is this guy, anyway?” she asks, “and why the hell are we driving so far out to see him?”

“He’s Simon’s new boyfriend.” Penny says matter-of-factly and Agatha nearly crashes the car.

“Simon’s _what_?”

“Honestly, Agatha, you dumped him, are you really surprised?”

If looks could kill, Penny would be on fire right now. Agatha’s glaring daggers at her as she rights the car and I bet Penny hasn’t even realized what she said was rude. With barely a glance at Agatha (or acknowledging the traffic accident she’d nearly caused), she stares me down.

“So, Simon: what are you going to say?”

I shrug.

“Are you just going to shrug at him?”

I shrug again and she rolls her eyes.

“Honestly, Simon, I can’t believe you’re going to his house without a plan. That’s mad! Isn’t that mad, Agatha?”

“Mad.” She says. She still won’t look at me. I think she’s offended. (Not because Baz is a boy, but because I’ve moved on from her.) (At least I think so.)

She’s right (as always.) I shouldn’t just go there expecting him to forgive me or to even want to see me. I can’t force him to listen or come back.

But I can try.

The rest of the ride is silent until Agatha pulls up to what looks like another road. But when I look up I see the large house at the end. I feel my heart jump.

I realize this must be his drive.

It’s fucking huge.

Agatha stops the car. “You can walk from here.” I open my mouth to protest, but Penny turns around to look at me.

“Agatha’s right,” she points out, “you can use the time to think about what you’re going to say.”

“Or,” I counter, “I could talk myself out of it and come running back to the car.”

“No you won’t.”

“I might.”

“Not if we leave.”

Even Agatha looks surprised at this and Penny smiles smugly.

“One of us needed a plan!”

Penny shoves me out of the car. (I could fight back, of course, but it’s Penny.) (Also I don’t want to.)

“Good luck!” She calls and Agatha even gives me a small smile and an encouraging wave. I know at some point I should talk to her about all of this, but I need to fix “all of this” first. A little voice inside my head reminds me that she is the one who broke up with me, and that I don’t actually owe her any explanation, but I feel like it’s the right thing to do.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t always feel like I needed to do the right thing. Like right now the right thing to do would be to return Baz’s sisters present and _only_ that. I’m assuming a lot by showing up here, mostly assuming that he actually wants to see me when his prolonged absence suggests otherwise.

The walk up to Baz’s house is long, longer than I expected it to be. Long enough that I have time to doubt myself. Doubt whether or not he actually wants to see me. I should just leave the bag on the step and run. I would if I didn’t think Penny would leave me here if I didn’t at least _try_ talking to him.

Suddenly, I’m there. I’m at the door. And Baz is on the other side (hopefully.) I’m nervous, more than I was when we left Penny’s house. Definitely more than I was when I thought up this plan. I consider falling back on my plan of “drop and run”, but then I find myself raising my fist to the door.

And I knock.

 **Baz**  
I open the door. Simon’s standing on my front step, looking the same as he did the last time I saw him. Except this time he looks hesitant, like he’s expecting me to slam the door in his face.

I would be lying if I say I didn’t consider it, but curiosity wins out. I open the door wider and step aside. He walks past me, and I try not to wince as he tracks mud onto the rug.

His hair is flat, like he’s been running his hands through it too many times. His cheeks are flushed and he’s breathing hard. If I didn’t know any better, I would say he’d just been running. He’s wearing grey joggers and a blue t-shirt. He looks cold. I want to warm him up. Want to wrap him up in my arms and hold him close, sit in front of the fire and–

“How did you find me?” it comes out harsher than intended, but I’m beyond curious (and slightly annoyed). How _did_ he find me? I never even gave him my number, much less any information that could be used to find this address. He doesn’t even know my last name.

“Google.”

“Simon,” I say, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

He grins. “You forgot something.”

“Where is it?” I ask, looking around for the bag. The sooner he’s gone, the better. Never mind that I want him to stay. Never mind that I want to kiss him with a ferocity that hasn’t gone away since that night. Never mind that it’s all I’ve thought about; that I’d imagined this moment over and over.

He’s way too close, as usual. Close enough for me to smell him: apples and smoke and something else I’ve never been able to identify. I wonder if his boss knows he’s here. I wonder if I should send him away. I wonder if I’d be able to. I just want to kiss him, then tell him to go.

“You forgot something,” Simon repeats.

And then _he_ kisses _me_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Baz**  
Someone yells next to my ear, and I wince. There are too many people in the flat. Fiona’d told me she’d let me have the flat for the night to host a New Year’s Eve party. I’d only wanted a small get-together, but Dev and Niall had begged me to let them take over the guest list. And I was too busy entertaining Simon to really think about what I was allowing.

Until right now.

It’s been eight days since Simon showed up at my house and kissed me. Eight of the nicest days of my life (and hopefully his.)

He hasn’t been back to The Mage’s Men since that day. After he kissed me, the whole story just came tumbling out and I told him he didn’t have to go back. He looked so fucking thankful. He’s stayed over every night since he showed up at my house, with the exception of last night, when he stayed over with his friend Penelope.

I told him to bring her to the party tonight and they showed up five minutes ago. I’ve been using those last five minutes to work up the courage to go over to him. Fuck. I haven’t even said hello to him, my--what are we? Are we dating? Are we...are we boyfriends? I feel like this is something I need to ask Simon (would Simon even know? He isn’t the most astute person.)

We spent boxing day huddled on the sofa watching movies. Simon let me rant to him about the unfair lack of any Christmas movies with gay main characters. That’s a nice thing about Simon: he’ll let me ramble on to my heart's content while he just...listens. No one’s ever just listened before. Sat there while I rambled maybe, but never the kind of deep listening Simon does.

It’s nice.

So does that mean we’re dating? All that kissing and hand holding and movie-watching and listening to me we have going on? And we’d spent Christmas together. What does that mean?

Speaking of Christmas, the both of us had been so excited to give Mordelia the damn dove and she barely even looked at it. I don’t think Simon minded as much as I did. I don’t even think _I_ minded that much, not really. In a way, it forced me to realize it was never really about the present. I’d been looking for a reason to spend time with Simon, even if I hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself at the time. Or even now. 

He has too much power over me, Simon Snow does. Like right now. Right now I want to go over there and steal him away from Bunce and snog the hell out of him right in front of everybody. I might, actually. Maybe just one more glass of champagne first. Or two. Or--

Or I just won’t do it.

 **Simon**  
We’ve been at this party for almost ten minutes and Baz still hasn’t come over. It would make me nervous if I hadn’t just spent over a week with him at his gothic--I mean victorian--mansion, eating his food, and wearing his pajamas.

And snogging. We’ve been doing a lot of snogging.

Baz looks good tonight. He’s wearing a suit--and he is the only one at the party in one. He’s slicked his hair back, and I almost wish he hadn’t. I want to go over there and fix it so it’s falling across his forehead again. I want to run my hands through it and pull him down until we’re the same height and then I want to kiss him. 

Christ, I want to kiss him. Why haven’t I kissed him yet?

Right now I’m just staring. I even catch him staring back, noticing how nervous he seems. He looks like he swallowed an entire duck. When I mention this to Penny she rolls her eyes at me like I’m mad.

“You’re mad, Simon.” She tells me.

“Mad for him,” I say and she snorts, pushing me in his direction.

“You’ve been hiding over here long enough. Go to him.”

“I have not been _hiding_.”

“Don’t lie to me, Simon.”

I grin, because I really can’t deceive her. I end up allowing her one more push before I finally relent and start moving.

 **Penny**  
I watch as Simon makes his way over to Baz. It makes me happy to see how happy Simon’s been lately. I don’t mind Agatha, but she never made Simon’s face light up the way Baz does. The only problem is that it’s extremely inconvenient for _me_. I barely have time for the friends I have; I definitely don’t have any for a new one. Baz seems nice though. And Simon does like him an awful lot. 

Maybe I’ll make the time.

For Simon, of course.

 **Baz**  
The ancient grandfather clock has just started to chime 12 when Simon appears in front of me and says “it’s midnight. 

“You’re awfully observant.” I reply and he sticks his tongue out childishly. 

“No. I mean, it’s _midnight._ You have to kiss me now.”

He looks so fucking eager. The clock is still chiming. It’s a new year, I’ve got the most perfect boy in my arms, and he’s asking me to kiss him.

So I do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr ( ﾉ ^ヮ^ )ﾉﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ](http://eroticgropefest.tumblr.com/post/154426588462/the-grey-dove)


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